


HD Steady On

by tigersilver



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, Inventor Draco, Lucius Malfoy - Freeform, M/M, Ministry of Magic Employee Harry Potter, MisUse of Muggle Items, NOT an established relationship, Narcissa Black Malfoy - Freeform, Squib Situation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-04-28 16:16:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14452992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigersilver/pseuds/tigersilver
Summary: In which Harry heads the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department and Draco is a Muggle-inspired Wizarding inventor. Together, they valiantly sort out small mysteries and tackle the unfairness of the Squib Situation. And, as a devoted duo, they continue to dodge all well-meaning efforts to steer them towards the bounds and entanglements of Wizardly matrimony.This was intended for the 2017 HD Career Fair, but instead of getting it done, someone very special to me was diagnosed with Stage IV cancer instead. So, many months later, I am posting it in chapters. Slowly. Beta'd by the marvelous lonerofthepack.





	HD Steady On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some encounters are perpetually awkward.

Harry cleared his throat and straightened his robes, fidgeting on the tiny stoop of Malfoy’s Muggalorium.  He was a bit nerve-wracked, admittedly, though not for any particular reason.

It was a smallish shop, crammed to gills with devilishly clever inventions, all of which were all too easy to set off, activate or otherwise energize. Of course, he’d been there many times before on Ministry business. Just not terribly recently, as Malfoy had been quite exemplary lately.  It was also a rare fine bright morning in late October, with glorious weather that invited a heady spin on his Astral Vesper 2050 later. In fact, all omens indicated Harry should’ve been more enthused he was making such an early start on this most pressing departmental case than he actually was.  

 _Au contraire_ , Harry was actually miserable.

Silently cursing smiling Fortuna’s best wishes (a lack of spilt tea, no Howlers and not raining), he yet squirmed inwardly, resting his hand on the polished brass of the knob, stalling for a long moment. _Not_ because it was awkward—it was!—to come face-to-face yet again with the man he’d been haphazardly involved with since that last summer Special Session at Hogwarts. Nor because it was his job—oh, thank bloody Merlin he’d passed up that Auror position!—to track down potential offenders against the Department of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts.  Nor even because Draco Malfoy was, by very definition, the thorniest thorn in Harry's Departmental arse.

No, no. It was really more because it would be awkward—it would be!—to confront Malfoy over a possible instance of Wizarding knitting needles gone wild in Muggle Knightsbridge. Silly case was silly, no matter how Kingsley and Ron went on about it to a fellow. And although Malfoy technically 'mis-used' Muggle artifacts all the bloody time, he never, ever did it with any ill-intention. The odds of him developing an evil alter ego at this stage in the game were positively infinitesimal. 

“Bloody,” Harry remarked to no one in particular, frowning. “Bollocks,” he added for good measure. "He's going to fucking Cruciatus my arse!"

That did excite a sideways glance from a passing Witch but Harry paid it no mind. He could vent if he wanted to, couldn’t he? As the odds of him being handed a Whomping Willow's worth of shite from one irate inventor were astronomically high.

However, needs must, duty called and all that. Peevish and sighing, Harry yanked open the heavy brass-bound door and entered the shop proper. Bracing himself, he stepped up to the raised area that was the Muggalorium’s main work area.  A waist-high bench half encircled it, providing the proprietor an excellent view of both the shop and the street. Malfoy had even co-opted one of those Muggle swiveled stools-on-wheels to gad about on when he was tinkering. 

Which he was, at the moment, bent intently over a project table. His flopped-forward fringe flared a silvery glare beneath the floating bulbous glass globes of his patented Daylight Fire, a recent and extremely popular Muggalorium product, instantly drawing Harry's eye. The remainder of the shop receded into the shadows behind him, although Harry caught glimpses of torn-apart Muggle toaster ovens and Hoovers, mangled Nokias and other much-abused electronic devices shoved here and there on the floor-to-ceiling shelving. The primary sales area was of course devoted to the incredibly popular MyFloo, Malfoy’s premiere entrée into the world of personal communications.

The Wizard of interest was seemingly completely preoccupied, however, poking his wand tip rather disconsolately at a rack of Muggle dildos, all arranged methodically by size on a repurposed dish-drying rack he’d likely scavenged from a random dustbin. His personal Malfoy MyFlooTM lay blinking and beeping unheeded beside them. The sight of it contributed to Harry’s morose moodiness.  

“Ahem,” Harry essayed tentatively, unhappily aware his ex-nemesis had not the slightest clue concerning the knitwear disaster in Knightsbridge. “Er...Malfoy.”

The shop was dead quiet, deserted of clientele at this early hour, and Malfoy seemed to not have noticed his entry. “Malfoy,” he repeated after a long moment had crawled past him, visibly trailing cobwebs. “Malfoy!”

“Oh, fu--wha-what? _What!_ ” snapped Harry's quarry, spinning about to send a broadcast glare in Harry’s general direction. "Who is now?--oh, it's you."

“Hey,” Harry said, shrugging apologetically at Malfoy's pursed lips. “Yes, it’s me, Malfoy. I'm sorry but I need your help—”

“It is indeed  _you_ , Potter,” Malfoy interrupted, seamlessly transitioning from irk to smirk in the blink of two pale eyelids. “What an unexpected pleasure this is, to be sure," he purred. "And what brings you here this fine morning? Are you going to interrogate me again?”

He leered, propelling himself up out of his seat and sweeping forward to arrive face to face with Harry.

”You know how I love it when you do, Harry.”  He reached out a long-fingered hand and fingered Harry’s business robes meaningfully, one fine blond brow arching. “All fierce and manly, so full of purpose; it’s not a hardship, you know? Assisting you with all your little cases of Muggle artifacts malfeasance. One could almost say I look forward to it,” he added, prowling about Harry’s semi-stalwart stance in a very tomcat sort of manner and trailing that lingering hand all along the line of Harry’s tensing shoulders. " A little spot of unexpected--"

"Oi, Malfoy!" Harry yelped. "It's not like tha--"

"Pleasure in my dreary workaday world, Harry, you are. Hmmm..." Drawing very near indeed, he yanked the trepedatious Harry all that much dangerously closer, so close their breaths mingled as he cocked his head at an enquiring angle. “So? Anything I may do for you, _Harry?_ Any desires you need satiated? Any stray fantasies crying out for fulfillment?"  A tip of his chin indicated the array of Mugglely rubbery-rods-at-the-ready. "I've a new experimental product I've been just gasping for an appropriate opportunity to play with."  

“Merlin, you arse!" Harry squawked, ducking abruptly away from Malfoy's leer and knowing wink. "It's not pleasure I'm here for, it's work,” he stated succinctly, righting himself and smoothing down his ruffled robes. “You oblivious git, I Myfloo'd an hour ago about this. And you know, _you know_ ,” he added feelingly, rolling his eyes at Malfoy’s unrepentant expression, "full well that I come by your shop when it’s work. Those few--very few!--instances before were just--just aberrations! As you’re well aware. So, yeah, stop it. No molesting me when I'm on duty." Setting his chin pugnaciously, he crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels. "Which I _am_. As it happens." 

“'Stop it' you say? 'No molesting' you say? Huh.” Malfoy drew himself upright and regarded Harry in a distinctly Snapian manner; that is to say, disapprovingly, with a distinct overtone of long-suffering annoyance. “Not ‘Harry’, then.” He shrugged. “Fine, suit yourself,  _Potter_ , if that’s how you want to be about it.” He cocked a thumb at the waiting dildos. “Crack on, man. While it’s always a pleasure to see you in my shop, I’ve haven’t all day here. Those sex toys aren't going to Charm themselves. Now, what’s your problem, Potter--other than the wicked stick up your arse?”  

Harry winced, recoiling at the sudden sharpness of tone and Malfoy’s cutting enunciation.  

“Oh, bugger it. Look, I’m sorry, Draco,” he said hastily, stepping into the other man's personal space. “I didn’t mean to hack you off, but I’ve got Kingsley breathing fire up my arse over this one. And Ron, and you know how _he_ gets.”

“Well, yes, that I do.” Draco visibly relented, a reluctant grin twitching across his well-shaped lips. “I blame it on the Granger Effect, Harry. She _stirs_ him.”

“Hah!” Harry snorted, barely suppressing a bark of laughter. "Too right!"  ‘The Granger Effect’ was something he and Draco had discussed endlessly and for years, and generally in the presence of copious amounts of alcohol and various numbers of Ron’s siblings. And absolutely always when Hermione wasn't present.

“Yes, alright, point,” he hastened on, seeking to put forward his current plight whilst Malfoy was momentarily less annoyed with him. “But it’s not actually that, this time. It’s the Cannons that’s got Ron’s knickers in such a twist, not the real ones, of course, but their regalia, and it’s pretty odd all ‘round, how it's all come about. There's Magic involved but also Muggle items, definitely Mis-used! I need your advice, Draco, more than anything. I'd not have bothered you otherwise.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Potter. You live to bother me, sometimes.” Draco regarded Harry somewhat suspiciously but obligingly moved back toward his bench, Summoning another swivelly stool for Harry to perch upon.  He patted it invitingly and smiled when Harry gingerly plopped his arse onto the padded round cushion. “Well alright then,” he coaxed. “Tell me all about it, Harry. And I'm sorry. Didn;t meant to bite your head off, earlier," he grimaced, humping an apologetic shoulder. "I was a bit…distracted,” he added, waving vaguely towards the dildos. “You see, I know I can improve upon them, just as I did with Molly Weasley’s knitting needles for that Squib woman; you remember her, right? Lady What'sIt-of- High Hovering Hummery. It’s just the _how_ , exactly, it's to be managed, the specific Charmwork, to make them fully safe and also Squib-accessible--and it’s been nagging away at me for ages now, the thing it is that I think I'm just not quite Spelling properly—ah! You’re not really interested in this, are you? I am so sorry, Harry. Do go on. We can talk about my troubles later, I'm sure.”

“Now, Draco," Harry replied, reaching out to give his confidante a quick encouraging pet on the slumped shoulder. “Of course I _am_ interested, and we absolutely will, I promise you, but Ron—and, well. Kingsley, too." He closed his eyes, briefly reliving the terse scene with his best mate and his boss earlier that morning, but also feeling horribly torn by the sight of a dispirited Draco. "I'm afraid I've got no choice, sorry."

“But of course you’re not interested,” Draco observed, nodding sapiently, apparently rallying. “You never are unless it’s an excuse to pester me about my inventions. Or my methods. Or both. Or sex. And it’s not sex, is it?" he teased. "Sadly. Even though I've just said I am wide open to such sudden diversion and perversion, all in the name of—“

“Malfoy!” Harry interjected. “ _Focus_! Muggles! Quidditch memorabilia, Magically fraudulent! To wit and ergo:  _Obvious Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Offence, 1st Degree, Rule 404, Section A_ —“

“No, no, no, not going there, Harry! Slow the Hades down, will you?” Draco made a hasty grab at Harry’s pointy forefinger, curling it under his own knobbly knuckles. “Stop that right now. I hate it when you recite that cursed Manual at me. Er…now what was it you were saying about Ron’s bloody Cannons? Have they finally conceded that they are the worst Quidditch team in the existence of the sport? Has our fine Auror Weasley expired of distress over their current and perpetual dead-last ranking? Because the majority of my Squib-oriented medical apparatus are not at all useful to your average Wizard.”

“Yes! Those! The Cannons! Speaking of?“ Harry, sensing an fleeting opening hastily whipped out his own official Ministry-issued Malfoy MyFloo. He flipped it open to reveal a  blurry image of a group of very nattily attired youths, caught strolling down a crowded walkway. “And well, _yes_ , as you can see, right here, to the knitting, but also _no_! Not Lady Whoever-She-Was but these lads, right here."

" _What_ , Harry? What're you showing me?" 

"It’s this,” he exclaimed, stabbing a fingertip at the foremost chap’s middle. “See him? Them? Look! Look at this jersey! It’s—it’s a Chudley Cannons one, and probably last year’s by the looks of it, but _he’s_ a bloody Muggle—they all are, confirmed—and _he_ bloody well shouldn’t be wearing any Cannons merchandise at all!”

“Huh,” Malfoy replied, snatching the MyFloo and eyeing the still images Harry had taken of the bedazzling brilliant orange garb decorating a straggly group of youths. He squinted at it, peering ever more closely. “Fancy.”

“Fancy!? ‘Fancy’ is all you’ve got to say?” Harry clenched his teeth and breathed through his nose and out his mouth for a moment.  He shut his eyes to Malfoy’s rapidly arching eyebrows. “Fucking Merlin, Malfoy. This--this _is_ an emergency. This is 1st Degree, Rule 404, Section A—oh never mind that! This is the Minister extremely irate. You know how I hate it when he’s irate. This is Ron, Auror Ronald B Weasley, also irate. And that’s _worse_. You know it is, Draco.” Groaning, he scrrbbed a quick hand across his scarred brow. "He's like a kicked Crup, Draco. Gone spare, he has. You should've seen him this morning. Bloody awful!"

“Well, I _am_ sorry I’ve not achieved your level of upset over this, but it hardly seems like an emergency,” Draco pointed out reasonably, lofting the MyFloo about in a casual gesture. “It’s just a bunch of lads wearing funny orange jerseys. No guarantee they're Cannons merchandise; they look to be more like knock-offs to me. No harm in that, other than a grotesquely sad sense of fashion. However, this here?"

"W-What?" Harry jerked his head up, distracted by Draco's abrupt conversational turn. "What's it?"

"This! It’s criminal, Potter!” The inventor snapped irritably, jabbing an accusing finger tip at the screen of Harry's MyFloo. He sprang up to pace about the dais, holding onto it despite Harry's aborted grab after his departmental property. “Exactly _when_ did you last have the spells updated on this poor misused mobile?" he demanded, spinning about to stare accusingly at Harry. "Because I’ve made the pictures Wizarding, with full stereo audio, on all the Malfoy MyFloos, and this is clearly not as it should be!"

"Wha? Wait!"

"I shan't 'wait', Harry," Draco said sternly. "The Ministry has clearly fallen down on the job, allowing you to go about with this ancient outmoded device. This is offensive to imine eye and I will not stand for it! For shame, Potter. A Ministry employee must always be equipped with the latest, best version of the Malfoy MyFloo.  I pride myself on that personally. I ensure it. Indeed, I personally oversee the entire transaction. Have you even spoken to Arthur Weasley about this travesty you carry? I’m certain he’d not allow you to take inferior Muggle-style still pictures of these inferior Cannons-style jerseys as evidence, when my highest quality, newly updated Pixilateus Vertigo Spell is available!"

“Fuck.” Flummoxed, Harry clutched at his hair, slumping onto the stool Draco had abandoned with a heartfelt groan. “Yes, okay?! That’s. The. Fucking. Point, Malfoy.” Harry took a very deep breath and spoke slowly. “Muggles. Artifacts. Misuse of? My job, Malfoy, if you’d care to recall. Please, may I get some help here? Because Muggles aren’t exactly in the know about Quidditch, you see, and these jerseys aren’t just Cannons orange— _they move about_. The Cannons logos squiggle. I saw them! Like the Wizarding ones do, but all fucking wrong, because they’re _Muggle_ , made with Muggle wool and likely by some well-meaning Muggle granny who didn’t know any better, but now it’s my problem. Which it shouldn’t ought to be if Wizarding knitting needles hadn’t fallen into the hands of a Muggle!”  

“Really? Now, that’s different,” Draco nodded, once more bringing the Myfloo screen closer to his face in order to peer at it. “I didn’t see that they were supposed to be in motion. Why didn’t you say that in the first place, Harry?”

“Probably because you were blathering on over your personal affront over my equipment, Draco,” Harry sighed, reaching out to reclaim his device. "Are you done yet?"

“Oooh, Potter!” Draco leered, leaning down so his face was right up Harry’s nose and grinning like a madman. “Your ‘equipment’? Do let's talk more of your 'equipment'.”

“Oh, do stop, you great twat.” Harry blushed. He cleared his throat to hide it. “Seriously, this is a real problem. Ron and I were in Knightsbridge just this morning—“

“What? Why there of all places?” Draco interrupted. “Don’t tell me you’re a Brompton Boy now, Potter. Not _done_.“

“Shut it, that’s not important,” Harry snapped. “Where I was, exactly. Suffice to say, Ron and I were on the Muggle side, alright? What’s important is that the Cannon’s logos on those horrible jerseys were in motion, Malfoy. Just like the originals do, but very oddly.”

“Oddly,” Draco echoed. “How so?”

“Well, when we got close enough, Ron collared one of them for questioning and we had a good look-see. Those jerseys are knitted, not Muggle mass-produced, and the wool is Muggle as well, but there’s some sort of residual spellwork involved, obviously. It’s bleeding over and producing this—this ‘abomination’, as Ron calls it.”

“Indeed.”

“Yes _, indeed_ , Malfoy, and don’t sneer at me. The damned things wriggle about like--like eels! Bloody woolen orange-and-black eels! And, there's more. Before Ron Obliviated him and his mates, the one lad said he got his from his Gran. She gave it him last Christmas and he liked it so much, he’s been wearing it ever since. Then his mates wanted one, as they're some sort of local gang, so his Gran obligingly made some for them, too. So then there’s a slew of Muggles wandering about Muggle London in misshapen Wizarding wear, Malfoy—or there _were_ \--and it’s clearly something to do with you.” He grimaced at Malfoy’s instant head flounce and angry snarl of denial. “No, no, Draco--calm down! I'm not blaming you and I'm not saying you supplied these Muggles with Magical knitting needles. But you and Molly Weasley had your heads together last Christmas hols—I saw you—and I know your ways.”

“Oh, do you?” Draco sneered, all at once a veritable icicle despite Harry's disclaimer. “I thought of the three of you Golden Ones _Granger_ was the fucking Know-It-All.“

“Leave Hermione out of this, please, Draco,” Harry shrugged. “Although it’s no secret the Granger Effect and the Weasley Influence has been huge in your Muggalorium inventions. Which is _not_ the issue here. And besides, you’ve consulted with Hermione how many times over spellwork? Ron and I agreed you were the first person to ask. To _ask_ , Draco. Not to _blame_.”

“Bah! Always with the vague unfounded accusations, Potter!” Draco stomped off, taking a quick turn about the premises. He paused only to send a burning glare in Harry’s direction. “It could’ve been George, Harry, just as easily as me! You know it could’ve! It’s just the sort of thing he’d do for a lark.”

“Well, it’s not,” Harry replied sedately, waving away the suggestion. “I asked him first and he denied it. Besides, it’s your handiwork. I’d know your magical signature anywhere. Question is, how did a Muggle knitter in Knightsbridge acquire Malfoy Muggalorium Charmed Knitting Needles in the first place? And how do we put a stop to this? Because there may be more of them out there. Which, again, is not something I'm blaming you for, Draco. But I really don't want it to become your problem--or mine, obviously.”

Draco hummed and drew to a halt, a thinking look blanketing the lingering irritation that had scrunched up his aquiline nose and wrinkled his fine brow.

“Hmm,” he mused, tapping his clean-shaven chin with a distracted wand tip. “Actually...I think I know just the thing,  Harry. A method of discovery, as we inventors like to call it. Thing is, it will require you make nice with old biddies. Tea and buns are likely to be in the offing...and hours away from the office. Do you think you can manage?”

Harry stared at his mercurial Malfoy for a moment, lips twitching, before he breathed out a long steady sigh, sagging back against Draco's work bench. He barely noticed dislodging the rack of dildos, nor the clatter as they toppled. Relief was already lightening his depressed spirits. Besides, any number of ‘old biddies’ were actually delightful companions. In their own peculiar ways, of course. McGonagall, however, could be a bit…bracing. Hopefully Draco didn't have her in mind for this particular adventure. 

“No worries,” he nodded happily, nonetheless. He stood up and strode over to Draco, snagging and pocketing his MyFloo. “I'm game. Glad to have you on broom, Draco. Now, where shall we start?”

 


End file.
